


Date Night

by Calais_Reno



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coming Out, Drunk John, Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Love Confessions, M/M, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calais_Reno/pseuds/Calais_Reno
Summary: On a date, John and Sherlock out themselves to Lestrade. It's all fine.





	Date Night

“So, you have any plans for tonight?” Lestrade asked John.

The techs were bagging the evidence. Sherlock was arguing with Anderson, who looked vaguely annoyed, but neither appeared to be making a real effort to be disagreeable.

John smiled. “I have a date.”

The DI looked at him with surprise. “Good for you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

John shrugged, smiling slightly.

Lestrade laughed. “How’s Sherlock taking it? Is he still scaring off your girlfriends?”

“He’s… accepted it.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Lestrade said, grinning. “I hope she’s patient.”

“We’ll see,” John said.

Sherlock was walking quickly towards them, motioning to John. “Let’s go. I’m done.”

Raising his eyebrows, Lestrade nodded to John. “Good luck.”

 

He’d assigned two of his men to the gay bar case, Richardson and Bates. As he left the crime scene, Bates rang. “Richardson’s called in sick. Do you want me to go by myself?”

“No. We need two men there.” Who would that be? He went through the possibilities. Jacobs was on holiday in Scotland, Stevens was absolute rubbish at passing for gay, and Baxter had broken his ankle stepping off a kerb during a chase. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“Erm, how do you plan to dress?”

“Like a regular bloke looking for some action, I suppose. Is that okay?”

“That’s good. Just don’t… don’t try too hard.”

“I’m not gay, Bates, but I have done this before.”

“Just making sure. Richardson never dresses right. Always tries to _look_ gay. Overkill. It’s better, really, if you look a bit straight. More believable.”

Lestrade nodded. “Fine.” He’d always been surprised at which of his men was gay. They never really looked as he had imagined gay people might look, and from that had assumed that gay peoplecould easily fly under the radar, that they looked pretty much like non-gay people. He would dress like himself, just because he would feel more comfortable.

He had known Sherlock for a long time, and had always suspected that he was gay. Though perhaps it was more accurate to say he was asexual, if such a thing existed. Sherlock Holmes was in a class by himself. Nobody was quite like him, and you really couldn’t draw any conclusions about his sexuality from his clothes or the way he spoke or acted. He never went out or expressed interest in anyone. Except for John. Poor John.

Maybe John would get lucky tonight, he thought, but knowing Sherlock, it wouldn't last long.

 

He met Bates at the club. Fortunately it was a fairly nice place, nothing sleazy, not the kind of place that made your skin crawl the moment you entered.

They walked through the door, Lestrade in his trimmest jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a leather bomber jacket, fashionably and prematurely grey, Bates in a narrow suit with shirt unbuttoned a few more inches than Lestrade would have done. He’d been in gay bars before, and knew that they could be as variable as straight bars. The best advice, from a former colleague, was to just be himself, try to enjoy himself. Don’t be intimidated. If someone hit on him, he would be polite, knowing that women experienced unwanted attention from straight men all the time.

The music was loud, but not oppressive. Oldies, nothing current, meant a slightly older crowd. He ordered a beer at the bar and was approached by a younger man who gave him an admiring leer. He nodded, spoke to the man for a few minutes, and then moved on.

Bates was chatting up a couple of beefy-looking bodybuilders. They were looking for a bloke who’d been attracted to that type, so it made sense. Greg would just keep an eye on the scene, trying to notice whatever he could.

As he scanned the crowd, he homed in on a familiar face. Sherlock Holmes, sitting at a table by himself, glass in hand, also scanning the crowd. He was wearing a close-fitting shirt, purple, and a well-tailored jacket. Their eyes met, and Lestrade knew he had to approach him.

“Well,” he greeted Sherlock. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Are you… erm, by yourself?”

Sherlock gave him a small smile. “I’m with a date.”

“Really? I didn’t — I mean…” He stared at Sherlock.

“You didn't think I had a social life?”

“Honestly, no. I mean, you're not exactly a social… person.” He was going to say _butterfly_ , but decided against it.

“Generally, I'm not,” replied Sherlock. “My boyfriend is, however. He enjoys this.” Sherlock gestured vaguely at the drinkers and dancers. “I put aside my natural asocial tendencies for him.”

“Boyfriend?”

Sherlock smiled. “Silly term, isn't it? _Partner_ is too formal, _lover_ too intimate. Stupid that English has no word for two grown men in love.”

This was a lot of information for Lestrade to process. “Sounds serious.”

He nodded. “Yes, I hope so.”

“Does John know?”

“He approves, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lestrade tried to cover his obvious surprise. “What’s he like, your, erm, boyfriend?” God, it felt odd saying that.

Sherlock was blushing a bit. “He’s… handsome. Rather… feisty. A bit intoxicated at the moment. Currently in the loo. He’ll be back in a minute.”

There was a disturbance at the bar. Raised voices, rapid movements. Shouting.

“Excuse me,” Sherlock said, standing. “I believe I need to intervene in this altercation.”

He quickly moved through the crowd. Lestrade, still trying to digest the fact that Sherlock had a _boyfriend_ , stayed at the table, watching him make his way across the room.

He caught sight of Bates, standing at the bar, trying to step between two men who were shouting at one another. He could see Sherlock, taller than the combatants, talking to one of them, grabbing him by the shoulders, and manhandling him away from the bar.

They crossed the crowded dance floor, heading for Sherlock’s table. 

A short man, blond, feisty, somewhat pissed. _Looks a bit like John Watson_.

Actually… it was John Watson.

“Wasn't talkin’ shite,” John, wearing jeans and a sweat-darkened vest, was saying as Sherlock steered him to the table. “I coulda bust ’im.”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock replied. “But we would not want to bust someone just for being a arsehole. Too many arseholes to deal with all of them.” He sat and pulled John onto his lap, wrapping his arm across the smaller man’s chest and kissing his temple. “Be good, love. Say hello to Lestrade. He's joining us for a drink.”

John stopped glaring at the back of his opponent and blinked uncertainly at Lestrade. “I dinna know you’er gay, man.”

“It's for a case, John,” Sherlock said in his ear. “What happened to your shirt, love?”

“I loss it. Hi, Greg.”

Lestrade grinned. “Hi John. How's the date going?”

John smiled fondly at Sherlock. “I love this man. D’you know that, Greg?”

“I'm happy for you both.”

“Love you, Sherlock,” said John, closing his eyes and leaning back against Sherlock’s chest. “So much.”

“How long?” Lestrade smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled back. “Nine months, three weeks, four days since he gave up the ridiculous notion that he is attracted to women.”

“It was…” John opened his eyes. “What's the word?” He frowned at Sherlock. “C’mon. You're s’pose to do that thing.”

“Read your mind?”

“It was…” His face lit up. “A facade. That's right, innit?”

“Of course, love. It was very clever of you to pretend to be straight.”

Lestrade grinned. “Well, you had me fooled. And a lot of people. Are you officially out, then?”

John appeared to have fallen asleep. Sherlock kissed him on the temple. “Well, we haven’t gone out of our way to make it obvious. I guess we’re just waiting to see who notices. I’m rather surprised that we’ve avoided commentary for so long. I was sure that Donovan would have something acerbic to say about it.”

Bates approached. “I’ve got a few leads, but I think we spooked them. No sign.” He looked at John Watson, asleep on Sherlock’s chest. “Hello.”

Donovan came racing in then, clearly on the chase. “Chief, we’ve got a lead on another bar.” She looked at Holmes and Watson, started, and frowned. “You two under cover?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “We’re on an actual date. If you could serve up your comments promptly, that would let us get back to what we were doing before you burst onto the scene.”

“Seriously?” She looked at Lestrade. “The freak and the wee doctor? All gay now?”

Lestrade stood and bowed to them. “May all your adventures be gay,” he said. He wasn’t tipsy, but somehow he felt as if he’d had several pints. “Best wishes.”

Watson opened his eyes. “Who you callin’ gay?”

Sherlock kissed his temple. “You, love. We are gay, you know.”

“Jus’ makin’ sure,” Watson said. “Call me gay. You do make me happy.”


End file.
